


"Will you help me?"

by tanynova



Series: Writer's Shed [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - World War II, I dont even know its weird shit, M/M, Nazi Germany, Random & Short, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:46:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27659032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanynova/pseuds/tanynova
Summary: Um-I really don't know how to explain this.I thought of Nico/Jenson a long time ago and somewhere down the line it connected with WWII AU. I have some ideas, but I don't think I'll manage a historical AU. So I stopped at the moment with this prompt...
Relationships: Jenson Button/Nico Rosberg
Series: Writer's Shed [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022457
Kudos: 6





	"Will you help me?"

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter - @_tanynova_

The only thing that was needed now was endurance. The Third Reich was surely not greedy to provide a soldier with footwork, and Nico was no exception.

"At least something good comes out this rotten system," he thought breathless, jumping over a tree.

He’s still not sure why he’s deserting or where. Yet he couldn’t take anymore, his hands began to be constrained by someone else's blood in this pointless cycle of death.

His name reaches his ears through a deafening heartbeat. Of course, they noticed. Damn it... On the other hand, it’s no longer possible to turn around. Maybe they would shoot him, at least he wouldn’tt have to work hard and pick up new gears for his broken life machine.

The left leg. A warning. No, sorry, at this point Nico prefers to think for himself and his own good. It's too late to scare him. A Nazi deserter is a too stubborn combination. The Nazist reaches absolute ideological lost of faith once he even considered desertion. So, Nico crawls on his hands through the unfriendly raw moldy soil, soaked with rotten branches (or so he preferred to think) of some forest, about the name of which he doesn't as much as the whole of Nazi fucking Germany. He would rather die and rott right here.

He would expect anything. Rapid death was eagerly in the first place. To be entirely honest, he was tired; his leg was becoming excruciatingly painful which mixed with rotten fleshy soil around slowed him down too much. He could hear the voices calling him. 

_I am so pathetic,_ he thought.

All of a sudden, his shoulder felt a boot’s bump. A British officer boot, to be exact. He looked up in utter fear only to be met with a concerned and seemingly non-hostile weathered man with freckles playing up on a tan sharp features.

“Follow me if you want to live,” he yelled in British English.

Poor dying blond didn’t need a second invitation, even though man had to help him to the armed vehicle under now flying German bullets, accompanied by quite offensive shouting, actually. Nico hoped he would never hear them ever again.

Once he managed to pull numbing leg in and slamm the door, the older British went to a full throttle.

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Nico Rosberg.”

“Jenson Button.”


End file.
